


Mile Markers

by escribo



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: first shot across the bow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 17:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escribo/pseuds/escribo
Summary: All Adam needs is one signature on his application to Aglionby. That should be pretty simple, right?





	Mile Markers

**Author's Note:**

> From "I heard these books were good" to "it is good but I'm not interested in the fandom" to posting fanfic inside of a week. Personal record.

Adam Parrish slipped his hands beneath his thighs when he sat in the single metal folding chair that served visitors to the high school's lone guidance counselor. He didn't want the woman in front of him to see them shake. 

Her office was microscopic, an old metal desk wrestled haphazardly into what must have been a spare closet, the window unit buzzing above their heads blew out tepid air that smelled of mold. He could feel a line of sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades, his shirt clinging to his back uncomfortably. The small stack of papers he had brought curled slightly from the humidity and he could tell the ink was smudged a bit from when his damp palm had spread them out in front of her. He needed her signature. His chemistry teacher had already written a recommendation and another wouldn’t hurt but mostly, he just needed her signature. She had barely glanced at them or him. Her eyes kept sliding toward her phone, which vibrated insistently, the screen a glowing call and response that was proving irresistible.

Her diploma, the only thing that hung on her walls, said she was just out of college; her name, a calligraphic _Chelsea Hicks_ , barely legible. Mountain View was her first job and he’d heard it would be her last. He believed it. There was barely anything on her desk—no pictures or dying plants or dusty knickknacks. Nothing to tie her to this place. It was clear that in her mind she was already gone. The diploma--her ticket out stuck to the wall just behind her head--felt defiant. He understood. 

When he asked about Aglionby, she gave him a distracted look that said she didn’t quite understand what he’d said. Her hand reached for her phone but then she thought better of it and instead let it flutter around the ruffled collar of her dress. The diploma reminded him that she wasn’t from here, or maybe she used to be but wasn’t anymore.

“It’s a private school near here,” he said carefully, tucking his accent in so maybe she wouldn’t think that he was from around here either. “Ma’am. For boys.”

“Aglionby,” she repeated just as carefully, making the word sound as if it was unfamiliar to her but something about her said otherwise. “It’s a prep school. The tuition is probably very…”

“Twenty-four thousand a year, yes, ma’am, but there might be a scholarship.”

“You’ve talked to someone there?”

“It’s on their website.”

“Oh.” It was barely a word but her tone still implied heavily that scholarships were never a guarantee and he tried to arrange his face in a way that said he didn’t disagree but he had to try. Both of them glanced down when her phone buzzed.

“When is the deadline?” she asked, allowing her finger to caress the side of her phone before she turned an anemic smile towards him.

“June 1.”

“That’s a week away.”

“I just need the signature of a guidance counselor. I have everything else.”

“The grades?”

“Yes,” he bit out and she lifted her eyes from the latest text to a spot just over his shoulder, a moue of discontent on her lips as she decided whether or not he was being insubordinate and then a moment longer as she decided whether or not she cared. Her gaze flickered down to the folder in front of her. His name was written in blue ink on the tab, _Parrish, Adam_ , and she moved to align it with the big calendar beneath that had notes written in a bubbly hand ( _yoga! call Ashley! date night? yes!_ ). She didn’t open it.

“Tuition is just the start.” She looked down at the folder again. “Adam.”

“Ma’am?”

“There are uniforms and activities. I bet they have a rugby team there.”

“They do,” he said, turning it into a question because he was almost positive that rugby wasn’t required though Latin was and he wanted a chance to study it. He had already burned through the foreign language options offered here: six hours of Spanish taught from a twenty-year-old textbook by a forty-year-old woman who had never left Virginia. 

“Uniforms can be very...,” Chelsea Hicks said and then bit her lip, smearing a tiny bit of bright pink lipstick on her teeth. There was something in her voice, some note of pity, that made Adam sit up a bit straighter and reach for the strap of his backpack. 

“All of their students graduate,” he said. “They all go to college. They have an engineering track and a debate club.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the education at Mountain View.” She didn’t sound convincing.

“They have a library and a planetarium. Their science building is brand new. I have a job. I can buy a uniform. I just need your signature.”

“Have you talked this over with your parents?” 

“They think it’s a great idea,” he lied, willing her to look at him and believe him. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his cheek, felt it hang for a moment. He resisted wiping it away. Her eyes had slipped back to her phone. The drop fell and blotched a spot onto his khaki trousers. He looked at his watch and knew if it didn’t leave soon, he would be late to work. “I just need your signature. Ma’am.”

She looked up at him. Met his eyes for the first time since he had knocked on her door. Her head tilted just a bit, considering. She didn’t look away when her phone buzzed, the sound loud against the metal of her desktop. The air conditioner rattled then cut off. She sighed. 

Her look said that they both knew he wouldn’t fit in at Aglionby, that he would forever be a misfit in a second-hand uniform. That even if he was accepted he would most likely fail out his first year because he had a public school education no matter his 4.0 GPA. That probably there was no scholarship and his father wouldn’t let him go anyway. That there was only the trailer park he’d grown up in and his faded mother’s sad face with her faraway stare and his dad’s fist. That there was nothing to him except a smoldering hope that maybe one day he could have clean clothes and clean hands and enough food not to feel hungry all the time.

His look said he knew all that and he didn’t care. He needed a ticket, too. He had to try.

She sighed again. Then shrugged. Then picked up her pen and signed his application where he pointed.

“Thank you.” He stood up fast, barely missed hitting his head on the window unit that was rattling back to life. He snatched up the application and slid the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. He was going to be late and his boss would be a jerk about it but he didn't care. He bobbed his head and strangled out another _Ma’am_ before turning to leave. 

Chelsea Hicks didn’t look up. Her phone was already in her hand, pressed against her ear, as she sagged back into her chair. Adam was one step outside her office when he heard her say, _I’m so ready to be out of here_ to whoever had picked up on the other end. “Me, too,” he whispered back and ran for his bike.


End file.
